A Mother's Meatloaf
by Cat of Kilkenny
Summary: Esme loves cooking even though she cannot eat her creations. She loves cooking even more when she has visitors to her kitchen. ONESHOT


_Author's Note: This idea has been stuck in my head for a while, and I finally had enough time to write it down. It turned out so sugary that it's giving me a toothache, but I hope you all will be able to---erm---stomach it. =)_

A Mother's Meatloaf

The Roma tomato was waiting patiently for her attention, but Esme could not bring herself to cut it. She held her knife in her hand and looked down quietly. It was a perfect oval with not a bruise in sight and was a perfect red, nothing at all like the red of roses or blood. Tomato red.

As a human wife, albeit an unhappy one, she had found some solace in such moments.

No matter what happened around her the rest of the day, cooking was love. She loved the smell of freshly baked bread and the crackle of warm pie crusts. She loved to watch broccoli turn a brighter, vibrant green as it steamed. She would give anything to roast another turkey on a Thanksgiving, but this time with people who she loved and loved her right back. She didn't like to dwell on the fact that the turkey could never be eaten, but rather imagined that Carlisle would have adored the way she made a turkey.

Today she was preparing a meatloaf to give to a local church that was holding a benefit. Though she couldn't taste her food without feeling slightly ill, Esme knew she was a good cook. All the shelters and nonprofits that got her food praised her. The orphanage a couple hours away was particularly fond of her oatmeal-raisin cookies. Cooking was love, even if part of it was just about keeping up appearances.

Esme thought about a toddler eating her first cookie while she haphazardly began to chop the tomato, making perfect slices despite her lack of attention. The slices would decorated the top of the meatloaf perfectly and provide a dash of color.

"Esme?" came a familiar voice. She looked up to see her newest daughter entering the kitchen cautiously. "Am I interrupting?"

"Bella, dear, when will you ever learn that _you_ can interrupt me any time?" Esme looked at her daughter and noticed that she looked a bit sheepish. Too late she remembered that Bella had quite recently caught her and Carlisle in one of their more passionate moments. She gave the poor young woman a wry smile.

"You know what I mean. Almost any time."

Bella recovered from her embarrassment and looked at the unfinished meatloaf sitting on the countertop in its Pyrex dish. "That looks really nice," she said. Esme didn't need Jasper's skill to know that Bella was feeling wistful, and she didn't need to read minds to know that her daughter was thinking about the times when she could eat the food she cooked.

"Would to help me, Bella?" Esme was happy to see Bella's shy nod. She gestured to the sliced tomato and a bushel of parsley lying next to it. "I was going to layer those on top for some color. Red and green. Besides that, I think it's ready to go in!"

Bella nodded and picked up a tomato slice gingerly. Esme turned away to hide her grin. Her youngest daughter was still getting used to her strength, she knew, and the poor girl probably was afraid of harming the tomato. Trust Bella to be frightened for the well-being of foodstuffs. Biology be damned, this was _her_ daughter.

"What sides have you got in plan?" Bella asked as she started to layer the tomato slices in an artistic pattern. "Vegetables?"

"Well, I have some scalloped potatoes I made earlier today and might fix some collared greens," Esme responded pensively. "I like how the creamy paleness of the potatoes goes with the red of the meatloaf, but I'm still trying to decide on some green."

Bella looked up from her handiwork and bit her lip. "I never liked collared greens," she said. "Always put too much salt in them and they seemed bitter otherwise." She paused. "Green. We need green."

Esme walked around the granite countertop to look out the window. As usual, it was anything but dry in Forks. The green of the trees was enhanced by the gentle drizzle.

"Have you got green beans?"

Esme turned and gave Bella a wide smile. "Of course. What a wonderful idea!" She whisked past Bella to the freezer and pulled out a heavy bag of green beans, knelt below the counter to grab a pot, and set to work. Bella, meanwhile, put the perfectly decorated meatloaf into the oven.

"I always loved green beans, especially with a dash of butter on them. I remember they were the first things I made for Charlie, who thanked me and then took me out for pizza within the hour," Bella mused.

"Poor Charlie. I'll bet you tried to feed him healthy food more than he would have liked," Esme said.

"Of course." Bella bit her lip and looked at Esme with a furrowed brow. "Is this not normal either?"

"What, dear?"

"Remembering. Edward said I'd forget so much of my human memories, and I have. But really, the ones that I remember and love…things like cooking, for instance…I remember them still. I remember those silly green beans. I feel like…I'm just so….weird." Bella looked down at the countertop and traced the swirls on the granite with her finger.

Closing the lid on the gently simmering beans, Esme walked to Bella and touched her shoulder. "Darling, you won't forget that because you don't want to. It'll be hard sometimes, but to tell you the honest truth I still remember things Edward would never believe I could. That apple pie you see me make? My mother's recipe. I don't have it written down anywhere, but I will _always_ remember that recipe. You are anything but weird, Bella dear."

Bella's finger stilled on the countertop and the corners of her mouth turned up. "Thanks, Mom," she said. "I'm going to check on that meatloaf. Vampire or not, I'm pretty sure that I can still burn it."

Esme laughed merrily and turned back to her pot only to hear measured steps and the swish of paper approaching the kitchen. Jasper. As was often the case, he was carrying a newspaper and scanning pages at a speed that would astound mere mortals. Esme loved to draw him in and have him there while she cooked. She liked to ask him questions about the latest events abroad, and he would acquiesce by not only reading the stories but giving his commentary. Her newest son was a shy one, but she knew he had begun to love her, in his own way. What better thing could there be than to do one of the things she loved while literally feeling love wafting from a corner of the kitchen?

Today, however, Bella beat her to the punch. "Jasper?" she called as she closed the oven. "Is that you?"

Jasper entered the kitchen, his newspaper clutched in one hand. "Yes?"

"Do you remember anything you ate before…well…before you stopped eating?"

Esme turned her head towards Bella and frowned only to see that her daughter had already realized her mistake. Jasper remembered very little of his human life and was almost as pained by the loss of his memories as he was torn by his difficulty adjusting to the Cullen diet.

"I'm sorry, I was just curious what you ate back then- recipes- Southern cooking-I'm so…" Bella continued to babble while staring at Jasper, who was still behind Esme. Sighing ever so quietly, Esme turned. Yes, Jasper was upset. His jaw was twitching, and his poor newspaper was looking the worse for wear. The look in his eyes, however, was not one of pain. It was of concentration. A tense moment passed as the two women waited for the young man's next move.

When he stepped forward to sniff at the pot of green beans, Esme moved slightly out of his way but watched him carefully. "This smells good," he said. His eyes were still distant, but the cloud that had passed over his face seemed to be dissipating. He turned to Bella and gave her a half smile.

"Honeyed cornbread," he said. Bella let out the unnecessary breath she had been holding. Jasper's smile got wider, and he turned to Esme. "My mother. She'd never let anyone else make her cornbread with honey in it, even if the cook made the rest. I remember stealing it from the table long before dinner was ready and hearing her scream for my father, who would in turn promise me a good hiding." His face was radiant. "My mother, she made honeyed cornbread."

Esme felt Bella touch her hand as her daughter left the kitchen and heard her quiet promise that she'd be back to check the meatloaf, but her son now had her full attention. Lifting her hand, she gently touched his scarred cheek. "Tomorrow I will make cornbread with honey in it." He tilted his cheek into her palm and closed his eyes. "Will you be here to help me figure out how to do it?" He dropped his head to her shoulder and she hugged him. Esme was quite sure that she could take that as a yes.

Hours later, after she and Bella had driven to the church to drop off the meal, Esme once again found herself in the kitchen. She was rifling through the cabinets looking for yellow cornmeal when she felt a hand touch her waist. Leaning backwards, she sighed as she melted into her husband's embrace.

"I see I am interrupting the most enchanting chef from her duties," Carlisle mused from behind her. "Shall I return after you are done?"

She giggled girlishly and turned, hitting his nose with her own. "This is for tomorrow, Doctor Cullen. I've done enough today." She closed her eyes as he bent his head slightly forward so their foreheads touched.

"Esme?"

"Yes?"

"I was at the hospital today and noticed they've started putting up those silly Pilgrim decorations. Thanksgiving is just around the corner."

Esme didn't open her eyes, but reached forward and pulled on his ear. "Do you plan on telling them that the buckles they have on their shoes are actually inaccurate, as you can attest to having worn ones of a different variety?"

He gave a short humph and she felt his sweet-smelling breath flood her face. "No, not my plan at all. I was just wondering if you plan on making a turkey."

She opened her eyes and pulled back from his face. She leaned against the counter behind her and took a long, measuring look at him. He was serious. "We can't eat the turkey, Carlisle. You know that. It's not…It's not…" she trailed off as she looked at his expression.

"We cannot eat it, but we _can_ help you make it. I can't say medical school has taught me how to stuff a turkey, but I always wanted to try." The smirk he gave her could rival Edward's.

With a sound that was half cry and half laugh, Esme launched herself back into her husband's arms. Cooking was love, Esme knew, and she had _that_ in abundance.


End file.
